


'Till the End

by dwarvenkin



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Closure, Divine Leliana, F/M, Fluff, Hawke/Varric mention, Lil' Angst, Lil' Backstory, Nightmares, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 21:16:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6256207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwarvenkin/pseuds/dwarvenkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A raven came in the middle of the night. It fluttered itself down and perched upon the windowsill of a tiny room atop a quaint tavern. It was quiet downstairs among the cottages squashed together around a town square, which only made the raven’s screech echo throughout the village of pig farmers and ram herders."</p><p>Eveleen Amell and Zevran travel to Skyhold by invitation from Leliana. Once there, Eveleen meets few of the Inquisitor's companions who saved the world from the brink of destruction, all while battling nightmares and doubts. This is a character study for Eveleen, her feelings on Leliana becoming Divine, as well as closure for Cullen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I have this published on tumblr and fanfiction.net, but I thought it would be good idea to edit it since it's a year old. Anyway, a few trigger warnings before you start reading: PDA, sex mention, blood, alcohol, and pointed objects. Thanks for reading and enjoy! :)

A raven came in the middle of the night. It fluttered itself down and perched upon the windowsill of a tiny room atop a quaint tavern. It was quiet downstairs among the cottages squashed together around a town square, which only made the raven’s screech echo throughout the village of pig farmers and ram herders.

Eveleen had Zevran's waist locked between her thighs when the raven squawked. Both whipped their heads towards the cry, gasping and frozen in shock, though, if they were honest, it was not the strangest thing they had come upon in their travels. With its red beady eyes, the raven stared at the two of them, then ruffled its black feathers and began cleaning its wing with its beak.

Eveleen looked down at Zevran and shrugged. She pushed herself off him to stand shamelessly naked in front of the opened window. The bird nipped at her fingers as she loosened the message from its leg, no doubt hoping for a reward but she had none to give. Instead, she reluctantly patted the raven on the head and watched as its wings disappeared into the inky shadows of the village. Eveleen unrolled the parchment between her fingers.

Beneath the flame of a candle, she read the small, careful script of Leliana’s handwriting.

 

_Hello Eveleen and Zevran, as I suspect he’s traveling with you. I know you must be very busy with trying to find the cure to the Calling. I no doubt have confidence in you that you will find it and finally put the Grey Wardens at ease. I, besides the Grey Wardens of course, would be very happy to know the Calling could come to an end. If, however, you find yourself in need of a break, I would love for you and Zevran to visit Skyhold. It is incredible, and nothing I could ever imagine. And, of course, I would love to see you again after so long. There is much to tell you, though I suppose you’ve heard all the rumors spreading around Thedas, as much as I’ve tried to stomp out the lies. But if you are ever near the Frostback Mountains, you are always welcomed to stay in Skyhold. There is a map on the back of this letter one of my scouts have drawn up. I suggest taking the northern path, as Skyhold is closer to the Waking Sea._

 

_With love,_

_ Leliana _

 

As she folded the letter into a neat rectangle, Eveleen had to wonder how sweet Sister Nightingale knew where she and Zevran were, but was then reminded that their lovely little red-head was no longer a bard with honeyed songs and tales but a merciless spymaster. 

_‘As I suspect he’s traveling with you,’_ she thought. _Like she doesn’t have her spies following me everywhere I go. The letter I sent to the Inquisitor made no mention of Zevran in case the Crows intercepted, but it’s better to have her with me than against me, I suppose._

Rolling onto one elbow, Zevran asked about the message, and Eveleen summarized it for him. According to the map, Skyhold was not far from the village. A week or two at best, if she did not get herself lost, and she had not seen Leliana in such a long time. She said as much to Zevran, as well as her concerns. It would be quite the trek, and she knew how much he hated the cold. But Zevran merely shook his head with a smile and said, "I am with you 'till the end, _mi amor._ ”

 

—

 

A constant wind tugged at their cloaks as they climbed breathlessly through the dense, untouched snow. They had left the edge of the forest days ago, leaving just a thin line of dark green and grey and a trail of broken snow behind them. Every now and then slim evergreens stood tall and stubborn against the mountain side with snow weighing their needles, but soon those dwindled down as well. Now, there was nothing but mountains for miles, like fangs that bit at the orange belly of the sky. Only the eagles circling above, slow and steady, accompanied them, though Eveleen Amell was not quite fond of that. She soon learned she was not quite fond of many things such as bogs or marches or plains or even what lived within them like wildcats, giant spiders, and the undead. But like most Grey Wardens, you learn to adapt.

Eveleen did not mind the cold, but she also did not like the idea of her skin freezing over in ice and cracking off in her sleep. Neither did she like the idea of her fingers turning purple and snapping off if she brushed strands of hair from her cheeks. There was once a man she met in her travels, a tavern owner with stories as large as his gut that spilled over the tops of his trousers. It gave a charming jiggle when he laughed as he told her and Zevran of the time he had lost his right ear to the cold. She politely laughed along with him, but she did not want to end up a fingerless, earless, skinless Grey Warden.

Zevran was beside her, blonde hair taunt against his head as he matched her strides. The only sounds coming from him were his harsh breaths, chattering teeth, and the crunch of snow beneath his Antivan leather boots. When they had reunited for good after his dealings in Kirkwall, Zevran had stood by her side through swamps and darkspawn, dragonlings and caves and walking skeletons, werewolves and sylvans, a herd of mammoths in the south and giants in the north. His loyalty was fierce, firm, and unmistakable; his love, even more so. So it came as no surprise to her when he too eagerly agreed to make this journey by her side.

As the winds grew stronger and yanked at her cloak harder, the clasp around her neck dug into her throat. It was a simple pendant in the shape of a griffon, its mighty silver wings spread out behind the profile of its head and beak. It stung when she plucked the sharp silver feather from her throat. Eveleen felt a line of blood run down her neck, but it was a mosquito bite compared to the beatings she'd taken throughout the years. Bloodmagic, betrayal, treason, Deep Roads — she'd seen it all. The archdemon was slain by her hand, but the battles never stopped. A jagged scar ran down the side of her nose from an ambush of bandits. She had mistakenly let a rogue get too close, and would have suffered a slit throat had not Zevran been behind him to plunge a dagger in his back.

As a harsh wind blew ice through her hair and frosted her red cheeks, she thought back to the Circle, tall and slender, piercing the clouds in the middle of Lake Calenhad. The library was filled to the ceiling with books from Brother Genitivi's _In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of A Chantry Scholar_ and Sister Petrine's _Ferelden: Folklore and History_ , to Enchanter Mirdromel's _Beyond the Veil: Spirits and Demons_ and First Enchanter Josephus' _The Four Schools: A Treatise_. The fireplace had kept her warm and cozy when the nights grew cold. Sometimes she would curl up in a plush chair in front of the fire with a book in her lap and read until a templar called for her to go to bed. Once Eveleen remembered a mage no older than twenty bringing her a cup of tea every night. She had dark skin with even darker freckles, wild hair as black as coal, and eyes as big and brown as a doe. They would sit and talk for a while before they both slipped into a closet where Eveleen thanked the girl for the tea. Those were fond memories, but, as she positioned the griffon pin under her ear, Eveleen thought _I would rather freeze to death than go back to the Circle._

The sun was peeking out from behind a jagged cliff when she felt it. She tightened her fingers around her backpack, gasping. The ancient magic that whispered against her skin, swirling around her mind like the snow around her feet, was thumping in her veins like a heartbeat. The Fade did not whisper as it normally did when Eveleen called to it, but it sang, sweet and pleasant. Her eyes fluttered closed, letting the magic fill her with warmth despite the bitter cold around her.When she opened her eyes, Zevran was a few paces ahead of her. He lifted a hand, beckoning her over, so she staggered through the snow and stood beside him.

Skyhold, the forgotten fortress, appearing as though it had sprouted from the mountain itself. It stood grand and mighty and looked no less massive than the wall of mountains surrounding it. White clouds drifted lazily between the arches of the bridge that stretched across a chasm, towards what she could only guess was the inner gates to the castle. Orange and pink glistened off the weeping stones, from the snow that never seemed to settle on the crenellations. The flags flapping in the wind could be used for tents; silhouettes of soldiers stood guard on top of the front tower; high, thick walls enclosed the stronghold and the people within.

Eveleen put a hand on Zevran's arm. "Can you feel it?"

"I am no mage," he said, breath coming warm and white from his lips, "but I must confess even I feel... hm... Something."

"Yes," she whispered. "Something."

She was too awestruck to move with the magic humming around her. It was not like the elemental energy she took from the Fade. The destruction of fire, the power of lightening, the strength of earth, or the sting of ice. It was all four yet none of those at all. She felt warm and embracing, loved and welcomed, she...

"Ah, we can stand here all day, taking in the beauty 'till our toes fall off, but, alas, that might happen very soon."

Eveleen turned to him and smiled softly. "Sorry. I will make sure your toes are warm tonight."

"Oooooh, will you now?"

 

—

 

The guards stood at attention when she and Zevran approached the outer gate. They looked nearly identical in their Inquisition armor. Against their chest was a grey steel breastplate with the flaming eye of the Inquisition on the front, the same eye embroidered on the piece of orange cloth hanging in front of their green padded breaches and on their matching helms. They wore simple leather boots wrapped in fennec fox fur, though she heard Zevran sniff at the quality of them. And their swords were tucked snug in their sheath. Though neither guard moved to wiggle them out, both kept their hand firmly on the hilt. The only difference were their faces. The man on the right had a beard as thick and black as smoke, parted and spiked like a trident. Small, close-set eyes skimmed over Zevran and his tattoo, then rolled back to staring at her. The other was clean-shaven, but in place of a beard were deep scars along his weak chin. His nose laid flat against his face; brows hung over his brown eyes. He was the one who spoke first.

"Name?" His voice had a sweetness to it.

"Eveleen Amell," she said. "And this is Zevran Arainai. We're friends of Leliana."

The bearded man grunted. "Right, and I'm the Empress of Orlais."

"Really?" said Zevran with mock surprise. "I hear that Empress Celene is a beauty and a gem, though they did leave out the part about the beard."

"Zevran," Eveleen warned gently. She turned to the man with the scars. "It seems odd a group sworn to protect the people of Thedas is suddenly turning those people away."

"People we don't trust," he said. It was quick, but she saw him glance at the staff in her hand. "Which is the likes of you."

Her fingers flew to her lips. "The likes of us? You mean an elf and a mage? Oh no... You do know how bad that makes the Inquisition look I hope. After all, the Inquisitor did side with the mages and ally with the Dalish."

"I..."

"Or is it because I'm a Grey Warden?" Her fingers started tapping against her mouth. "Now what did I hear... Ah, yes. The Grey Wardens are free to aid the Inquisition, isn't that right?"

The man on the right grunted again. "Grey Wardens... Bloody lot of half-wits and loonies, they are."

"And you would fit right in, I'm sure. Should I conscript you?"

The sound his teeth made when he snapped his mouth shut brought a smile to her face. Though it saddened her to say, she had used that trick quite a few times. Threaten a man of conscription and he takes his hand off your thigh, bids you good day, and bolts out the door. You would think the blue padding and silver scales of her armor gave her away, but men were fools and blind to anything but a pretty face.

"The war is over," said the scarred man. "Corypheus is dead. How are you here to aid us?"

"That is for Leliana's ears only, I'm afraid," she lied.

"Maker's balls," the bearded man cursed. He certainly gathered up his courage quickly enough. Or did he just want her gone to save his fate from conscription? "Just let the girl and the elf in. It's just the two o' them. If they cause any trouble, the Commander's pets will skewer them right quick."

The man on the left was about to speak, when the other cupped his gloved hands around his mouth and hollered for the men above to open the gate. His voice boomed over the wind. But she did not think his orders reached the soldiers above because they all stood there, watching the blank, orange and blue sky. Finally, a black shadow popped out over the crenellations, gave a signal, and the grounds shook with a groan coming from the great iron gate as it rose steadily over their heads.

When she and Zevran walked under safely, Zevran leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "How I love to see your feisty side. Just like an Antivan! Now if only there was dirt under my boots, the smell of rotting leather, the sound of the sea, and three times as many murders, then I would feel right at home. But I must ask, why not simply tell them who you are?"

Eveleen looped an arm around his. A dull ache began rising up from the flats of her feet. "As if they would believe me. Besides, even if they did recognize me, you know as well as I do, people do not care about the Hero of Ferelden anymore."

"Still, you could have shown him the note," he pointed out.

Eveleen kept Leliana's message secured in a leather pouch snug inside her backpack, but she had kept it more for the map than for the words on the other side. "I could have," she said with a mischievous grin, "but it wouldn't have been half as fun."

As the walls of Skyhold loomed before them, sturdy and stubborn and old, the second gate was lifted for her and Zevran. Bending their heads, they walked beneath it and stepped upon good, solid earth. She had not felt grass since she and Zevran had left the village, only the crunch of unstable snow. The magic in this place ran deep, Eveleen could feel, through the roots of the trees, down, down, down into the mountain itself. She felt protected, safe, a feeling she had lost long ago.

Men and women walked past with crates and supplies in their arms, with children and mabaris at their heels. To her left in the shade of a short cliff were modest tents made of cow hide, erected in a semi-circle around a group of mages and the wounded. A woman with short brown hair and a yellow velvet tunic was ordering healers about, pointing at things and places and people. Past a small, stone overpass and wooden scaffolding on the right, a barn stood with a horse in each stable and a burly man chopping at wood. The castle itself towered over it all, shrouding the courtyard, the red vines that slithered up the walls, and the neat pyramids of lumber and quarries all in shadow. Banners with the symbol of the Inquisition, a golden eye on a field of royal blue, hung proudly against its walls.

Knots here and there caught her attention as she and Zevran climbed the steps to the second level. She spotted the Orlesians first with their floor length gowns made of velvet and silk and their ornate masks meant to hide their features from players of the Game. She could not miss the rubies and emeralds glistening their worth in the sunlight even if she tried. To her surprise, the Fereldens mingled amongst them. Their clothes were plain, more practical, but most had the bust of a mabari hound embroidered somewhere on their vest or bodice. A qunari with a row of white braids down his neck reminded her of Sten and how he had once called her kadan, though this qunari was grey and had horns, each one broken off at a different place. Dwarfs and elves alike, some Grey Wardens, some Dalish or city elf, some surfaces, socialized and laughed with each other and the humans. Eveleen had to praise the Inquisitor for what she has done.

As she and Zevran were about to round another staircase to the castle, Eveleen spotted a woman near a tavern, talking to a freckled dwarf. The woman wore a purple hood over her eyes, but the shock of red hair against her pale cheeks and the way she held herself with a subtle grace gave her away. Eveleen's heels clicked against the cobblestone as she crossed the courtyard. It had been ten years since she last saw her, in Denerim's castle honoring the Warden and her bravery. Leliana had looked so much at home surrounded by the nobles, in her silks and fancy slippers. It had been incredibly Orlesian of her, but for that one night the Fereldens did not think of her as a rival but as a friend to the Hero of Ferelden and a champion. And Eveleen missed her. Missed her friend and their talks in the camp as they sat crossed-legged near the fire, sharing gossip and swapping tales. Her heart swelled when Leliana noticed her approaching, grinning ear to ear.

"Leliana," she breathed, wrapping her arms around her friend's shoulders. The spymaster pressed a hand against her back, but that was all. Beneath her cowl was a face that was older than Eveleen remembered. They had all aged, this Eveleen knew all too well, as her chestnut bangs had begun to grey. But Leliana did not appear older in crows feet and laugh lines but in the way she looked at Eveleen. Her smile held a sadness and twitched with such burden. But Maker was she beautiful. "We have some catching up to do."

Leliana chuckled sweetly. "I see you have not forgotten our time together."

"The Pearl is one of my fondest memories."

The bard suddenly looked down at the dwarf with a flush of red riding up her neck. "Perhaps we can discuss this later."

"Oh no," said the ginger dwarf, grinning. "Don't stop on my account."

"I will get you your supplies, Scout Harding. I just need to speak with Cullen."

“Cullen?" said Eveleen.

The name surprised her, and the face of a man she left in the tower suddenly came to mind. Light curly hair and a shy smile, always with dark circles under his eyes as though he had not slept in days. He had been there on the day of her Harrowing with fear on his face he had tried to hide with bravery. He had often been the one who escorted her to her studies the many times she had gotten herself lost amongst the corridors and chambers.

Cullen's fondness for her had been well known throughout the Circle. Gossip had trickled in like muddy water, but she had ignored it as much as you try to ignore a leaky roof. Many times she had caught him looking at her with sad puppy eyes, but she had never allowed herself to give him what he wanted — she never allowed herself a relationship he was hoping for. The last she saw of him was at the top of the Circle tower, broken and beaten by the people she had once called friends. She wondered how he was doing.

"Oh, then you do not know?" Eveleen shook her head. "Then we have much to talk about."

 

—

 

Leliana was good on her word. In the rookery above the library, long, skinny shadows of the ravens' cages did slow cartwheels along the wooden floor and stone wall as Leliana retold the tale of the Inquisitor. They sat at a table near an archer's window. A sliver of light went from gold to pink to silver amongst the papers and cups of corn and a tiny ornate box with nothing inside. Leliana went back to when she was made the Left Hand of the Divine, though Eveleen had known that already. It was common knowledge Sister Nightingale spied and killed for Divine Justinia.

“The Inquisition was Divine Justinia’s idea,” the bard explained. She followed up with how Cassandra Pentaghast and Commander Cullen had rallied as many people as they could in Kirkwall to join their cause and how they had all settled in the chantry building in Haven. 

By the time Leliana got to the conclave and its destruction, Zevran found them and sat beside Eveleen, taking her hand and lacing his fingers with hers. The sister had obviously not gotten past the Divine's death, murdered, she later told them, by Corypheus’ manipulations of the Grey Wardens. Eveleen, appalled, look at Zevran and gulped.

Finally, Leliana told them of the Inquisitor — a mage from the Circle of Ostwick, a Trevelyan named Rania. Much of what Leliana told her was known, but none of the details only the Inquisition knew spread beyond the walls of Skyhold. The Inquisitor had sided with the mages even after they had allied with Tevinter and this cult called the Venatori and had nearly killed her by blasting her into the future in hopes of giving the world to Corypheus. The idea of time magic certainly intrigued Eveleen, but the thought soon darted away as Leliana told them of this Corypheus — an ancient magister from a time when the Imperium ruled, one of the fools who thought it a good idea to breach the home of the Maker in the name of their own gods. 

Eveleen couldn't swallow the idea that all of what the Chantry sung was true, but if this darkspawn, this talking, intelligent darkspawn was telling the truth… She thought back to the Architect and shuddered.

From what Leliana told her, Adamant had been a disaster. The Inquisitor, the Champion of Kirkwall, and a warden named Stroud, had all walked amid the Fade physically, a feat that had not been done in a thousand years. They had all learned what really happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. As the memories had flooded back to Rania, they revealed the mark that scarred her hand had not been from Andraste but, instead, by an ancient elven orb.

“Oh and then there was the Orlesian Ball,” Leliana sighed with a twitch of her lips, then cleared her throat. “Of course, we were not there for pleasantries. The Grand Duchess selfishly allied with Corypheus, but she was killed by the Inquisitor.”

Zevran laughed until tears ran down his cheeks when Leliana told them of how Rania had to judge the Duchess' corpse. 

“But you will never guess who was there, acting as the magical advisor to the Empress,” Leliana continue shortly after Zevran’s fit. “Morrigan.”

The last time Eveleen had seen the witch was right before she slipped into an Eluvian to return to the child she had, had with Loghain. Curious, she asked Leliana if the boy was okay, to which Leliana confessed that Kieran was not what she had expected. He was bright, and mingled with the people of Skyhold much better than Morrigan ever could have during their own travels.

“Celene delights in false magic — speaking to the dead, that sort of thing. So we all know how Morrigan got her position,” said Leliana, and gave off the sense that she had not liked the idea of Morrigan by the Empress’s side.

Then Leliana revealed the Temple of Mythal. From the Inquisitor's reports, magic still hummed there. Rania had done rituals to honor the goddess Mythal, to enter into the temple for something called the Well of Sorrows. It sounded powerful and old, and the ancient elves had protected it for centuries until one elf named Abelas allowed one of them to drink from it. Morrigan now held the power of the Well, though Leliana did not seem pleased with the idea.

The final battle hit them when Corypheus had returned to Haven. It devastated Eveleen to hear that the Temple was nothing but ruins now. The Inquisitor and the Elder One had, had their last stand until Morrigan (now a dragon) fell in battle, leaving Rania and three of her friends to kill the archdemon themselves. 

Amell empathized with the Inquisitor when Leliana said after Rania and her friends had killed the blighted dragon, Corypheus had still waited for them on top of the temple. The finale battle was always the hardest, thinking back to the time when she had to face down Urthemiel with darkspawn swarming the top of Fort Drakon like flies on a corpse. She had her friends fight off the blighted creatures as she took to the ballistas, but she had not been alone. Mages from the Circle had bombarded the archdemon with their magic, the warrior dwarves from Orzammar had pounded its rotting legs with their berserker abilities, the soldiers from Redcliff — warriors, archers, and rogues — had scattered about to help shrink the hoard of darkspawn with the aid of the Dalish elves.

But Rania and her friends had fought their finale battle on their own. So it came as no surprise to Eveleen when Leliana said they had found Rania face down in the dirt and unconscious under the scarred ruins of the Temple. It had taken days for her to recover. Three ribs had broken, half of her hair had burnt off, a large gash had cut deep into her thigh where she had lost most of her blood. Her mage robes had fallen off of her in tatters, burnt and bloodied. Healers and surgeons both had worked day and night to make sure Rania Trevelyan lived. When she had finally awoken a week later, the first thing their ambassador had done was throw a party. But that was weeks ago, and now things had settled and...

"I'm to become Divine."

For a heartbeat, Eveleen did not understand what Leliana said. Sitting across from her, hidden in shadows and secrets, a merciless spymaster with blackmail at her fingertips was to be the next Divine of the Chantry. Eveleen was a mixture of disbelief, hurt, and joy. She thought back to the note stuffed away in her pouch and to the raven that screeched, perched somewhere on one of the wooden beams above. Was this why Leliana sent that message? To tell Eveleen in person? She supposed she was grateful for that much. News such as this should not be sent by bird.

Eveleen squeezed Zevran's hand and joked, "I suppose catching up is out of the question now.

A charming blush flushed the spymaster’s cheeks as she giggled, and for a second Leliana was the sweet bard by the campfire again singing pleasant songs of valiant knights and lost lands with a lute in her hand. "I have not disappointed you, I hope."

"No, of course not. I'm just glad to see you," Eveleen said sincerely.

For the first time, Leliana gave a smile that reached her eyes. "As am I."

 

—

 

Down a spiral staircase incased in stone and dimly lit with torches, Leliana led Eveleen and Zevran to their bedroom. They crossed a balcony on the second level of the castle where a stack of crates sat abandoned. They all had the Orlesian crest — a golden masked face outlined in black on a field of red and white — beautifully painted on each lid. Down below the grand hall stood silent; the torches had been snuffed out for the night leaving parts of the hall in darkness, but from the extravagant stain-glass windows, moonlight pooled in and stretched across the Inquisitor's throne. Two silhouettes stood before the throne, but Leliana hurried her along before she could see who they were.

The door Leliana opened led them to a terrace that overlooked what Eveleen could only guess was another courtyard. Black branches stretched like knobby fingers towards the inky blue sky, but besides that, she could not make out what was down below in pitch black shadow. Finally, another door was opened, and in it was a cozy little room just for her and Zevran. Cool silver light shone through the diamond-shaped panes of the window. Next to it, something was hidden beneath white tarp, like a ghost. Shoved into a corner was a full-size bed, several candles lit up the room, and a rug of red and green wool warmed the floor. It was the best room she and Zevran had stayed in, in a very long time.

“This is the best we have to offer, unfortunately,” said Leliana from the doorway.

Eveleen turned to her and smirked. “Please, _Divine_ , the amount of times Zevran and I have had to sleep on the ground or moth-eaten beds… Oh, do you remember when we slept in a crypt?”

“All too fondly,” the elf replied sarcastically. He had already made himself at home, lying on the bed, fully clothed, save for his boots that stood like soldiers against the wall.

“Though I expect better lodging when you invite me to the Grand Cathedral,” Eveleen teased.

“I want every doorknob to be made of rubies,” Zevran added dramatically.

“And bedsheets made of silk embroidered with my initials—“

“Do not forget that every surface should be shined until I could see my handsome face, yes?”

Eveleen batted her eyelashes. “And my beautiful eyes.”

“Are the toilets made of gold? If not, I will not step foot into that cathedral until I have my own golden throne!”

It took a second for Leliana to force her giggling away, but when she finally did, she bid them goodnight and shut the door behind her.


	2. Chapter Two

As soon as Leliana left, Eveleen felt the room go cold. In all honesty, she was happy for Leliana, who needed something good to happen in her life for once, but there was no denying the mage’s fear. If anything, being Divine was like having a ten foot target across your back, just waiting for the perfect arrow, dagger, or spell.Smile fading away, Eveleen slipped off her shoes, laid her staff across a table beside her, and flung her clock and backpack into a scarlet plush chair.

"Well…" Zevran started, sitting up from the bed, "that was certainly…"

"Unexpected," she finished, tired. "Divine Victoria. Our little Leliana is growing up…" She looked for her elf and found him with his arms already spread wide, enclosing her waist into a hug. Resting her cheek against the top of his head, she sighed. "I worry for her, Zevran."

"I know." 

She felt his sudden laughter echo in his chest. “What is it? Are you laughing at me?”

“No no!” he said quickly. “Well… Sort of. But also at myself. You do realize that we are two of the lucky people who have known the Divine more… Intimately.”

Eveleen’s paused for a moment, her smirk returning. “Isabela must be laughing her pants off.”

“I doubt it. She no longer wears them.”

Amell shook with laughter with Zevran chuckling into her breasts. With a smile still on her lips, she forced his head up and kissed him on his forehead, right between the brows. Leave it to an Antivan elf assassin to lift her mood, if only for a moment, for when she leaned her forehead against his own, the thought returned of Leliana on the sunburst throne, but this time her neck was split open and a dagger stuck in her heart like a warning.

Eveleen always had a grey spot for change. Even when she had left the Circle with Duncan, the taste of freedom had made her both sick and excited. Some nights she had spent hours looking up at the stars, overwhelmed by the enormity of the world. She had felt the moist dirt squish between her fingers, listened to the crickets play their midnight tune, and dreamt of a life this could be for all mages. But other nights she had refused to eat the ram jerky Duncan offered her, worried she would only retch it up later behind the trees. Her breath had caught when she opened her eyes and see trees towering over her and the sky pressing down on her, and she had wished she were back in that tower with a ceiling over her head. On those nights, the crickets had become annoying pest that only wanted to keep her from sleeping; the stars and moon had been too bright, and the dirt had stunk of the sickly sweet smell of death.

The Circle had been her home since she was a child. She grew up with the mages and called them her family, and yet she hated the Circle all the same. It was home and a prison. Sanctuary and hell. A place of learning and fear. She would defend it with everything she had and yet see it be torn down stone by stone. 

And the same feeling occurred when every one of her friends stepped out of her life. Even Zevran, as loyal as he is, had to separate from her for years to keep the Crows off their trail. Some, of course, chose to sever any ties with her and pretend as though she had never existed. She could still remember the fury that had blazed in Alistair’s eyes when she spared Loghain’s life. Never could she step into Denerim without remembering just who lived up in that castle with his wife. She never did understand why Alistair still agreed to marry Anora after what Eveleen did.

But Leliana would bring change to the world, that Eveleen did not doubt.Some that it desperately needed, but at what cost? People would do anything to stop it from happening, because what fear is greater than the fear of change?

"Come!" Zevren said suddenly, breaking her from her conflicting thoughts. "There were to be warm toes tonight, I was promised."

Eveleen kissed him again, this time on the mouth, and forgot her troubles for an instant. "That you were."

She awoke all at once, every nerve trembling. For a moment, she did not remember where she was. She had dreamt of Ostagar, of that dreadful moment when she and Alistair lit the beacon and waited and waited and waited and watched as absolutely nothing happened. Moments later, the door was flung opened and in poured the darkspawn snarling and spitting. They thrust their crude weapons made of iron and bone in the air and charged at them all at once. She had fought with vigor and determination, pouring all of her primal hatred into those festering creatures, but in her dream, Flemeth was not there to save her. And she and Alistair were overrun. When Eveleen opened her eyes, she was not in Ostagar or surrounded by darkspawn but in Skyhold. The room was cold and black, but she was warm beneath the blankets, between Zevran's arms.

Dawn had not yet come. She unwound herself from the elf's arms and legs, threw back the blankets, slipped into a random shirt she found on the floor, and went to her window. Even as the world was still black, sparrows zipped in and out of trees and bushes. Down below more shadows dragged themselves in the darkness, slow and sleepy. They must have been cooks and carpenters and smiths readying themselves for the new day. The sight took Eveleen back to the days long ago, in the weeks after the end of the Fifth Blight.

Every morning she would wake up in Denerim's castle, dress herself, and through the window watch the leisurely rise of people in the markets. One by one the merchants would emerge from their houses, stretch, yawn, and have their breakfast. Then they would set to work. Under a great patchwork tent of dull browns and reds, they would all lay out their weirs. From armor made from all the metals of Ferelden and greased leathers lined with furs and wool, to vests and dresses and tunics that billowed in the warm summer breeze, all a different shade of brown and red and yellow. Weapon stacks filled with axes, swords, and daggers were kept behind the merchants. At the edge of the tent on cloth-covered tables, bronze and summer stone jewelry shimmered in the sun.

It was an array of supplies only the Fereldens would be proud of. The Blight had not dampened their resilient spirit. And that was what Eveleen loved most about them.

She would watch until most of Denerim woke. Then when the market place buzzed with customers and children started to play with their mabaris, she would head downstairs to eat a hardy breakfast of yeasty biscuits drenched in honey, black bacon, and hard-boiled eggs. Those days did not last long, however; soon she and Zevran packed their bags, thanked Queen Anora for their stay (the King would not speak to them), and left. Ferelden still needed her.

The rustle of clothing against skin caught her attention. Over her shoulder and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Zevran sleepily tying the string of his pants in a slack knot. With a yawn, he dragged his feet to where she was, slipped his arms around her middle, and laid his heavy head on her shoulder.

"Did I wake you?" she asked.

Zevran pressed a lazy kiss under her ear, right below her jeweled earring. "No."

"Bad dream, then?"

"No," he mumbled into the crook of her neck.

She was thankful at least one of them had a restful night. She turned around and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Then why are you awake, love?"

"You were not in bed."

She rolled her eyes in jest and sighed, "Antivans," making Zevran chuckle against her lips.

It was mid-morning when she finally left the room. She had dressed herself in cotton small clothes, a linen shift, and a simple deep blue robe that buttoned across her chest and ended in a point down at her leather boots. Under that, black lambswool hose, a simple cotton blouse with bishop sleeves, and, finally, her Grey Warden belt secured snug around her waist.

Zevran, still tangled in the sheets, rolled himself more tightly into his pillow as Eveleen clipped a pouch to her belt. She eased open the door, and made her way down to the ground floor. As she worked hard to remember the path Leliana had shown her early that morning, she noticed the Orlesian boxes were gone and that down below the throne room was thriving with people.

When she reached an archway to the rotunda, the frescos on the wall were so beautifully done that she held her breath for a heartbeat. It told the story of the Inquisitor, she soon noticed, starting from the Breach, to siding with the mages, then to the attack on Haven. Next, the siege of Adamant where Rania spared the Orlesian Grey Wardens from exile, then the assassination attempt on Empress Celene, the Temple of Mythal, and, finally, ending with the slain blighted dragon. The last panel looked unfinished, just a sketch of outlines etched into the wall with watery-brown paint. It was a striking contrast against the rest, as they were full of crisp lines, rich colors, and such intricate patterns of scales and triangles and writings Eveleen could not read. Whoever had done these had not only talent, but patience.

She found herself in front of the Grey Warden heraldry. Fingers feather-light against the chipped wall, she touched the royal blue Joining cup the two griffons held in one of their paws.

Undergoing the Joining was not a memory she soon forgot. She could still remember Daveth jerking violently in pain until his knees had given out. The veins in his throat had bulged against his skin. His eyes had clouded over until the amber flecks had turned to milky-white. He had screamed until blood bubbled in his throat and spewed out of his mouth, leaving his pink lips black and his body limp. Poor Ser Jory had, had no better fate with Duncan's dagger hilt-deep in his belly. When she'd seen no other choice but to take the cup from Duncan's hands, Eveleen downed the rest of the darkspawn blood and flung the cup away. It had felt as though her entire body had split open, right down the middle. The blood had skinned her insides like claws against a carcass. It was a white-hot searing pain that had spread from her core to the very tips of her fingers, down to her toes, and up to the crown of her head. It had inflamed every nerve that had left her feeling… wrong ever since. She took her hand away from the wall, suddenly feeling very cold.

As soon as she opened the door to the grand hall, the smell of buttery pastries, roast duck sizzling in its own fat, and grilled potatoes hit her hard and made her mouth water. She had forgotten how hungry she was, living off strips of bacon, stale bread, and Ferelden cheese for a good week. People bustled about the castle and around the long tables filled with food, carrying plates full of duck and biscuits, and goblets and flagons filled with wine and cider. Men and women, dwarves and elves, filtered in and out of the castle doors, making the air buzz like a thousand bees. She was about to walk over and take a seat for herself when she ran into a dwarf who apparently had the same idea.

"Excuse me," he was about to say, but then looked up, briefly studied her face, and laughed (adding “Oh shit!”) before he invited her to dine with him at his table near the fireplace. He had strawberry blonde hair pulled up in a half ponytail, deep set amber eyes, and large ears pierced three times with golden earrings; a thick broad nose, a square stubbled chin, and a wide mouth surrounded by laugh lines. She almost declined his offer until she noticed the chest hair, the same chest hair that was painted on the backs of all of his books. Dining with the famous Varric Tethras was not what she had expected when she woke up this morning, but she definitely was not about to let the opportunity slip away

"So, you're Leliana's friend?" The piece of biscuit she held between her fingers wasn't even in her mouth before Varric went straight to business. When Eveleen raised her brows, he added, "I have spies of my own."

She popped the piece of biscuit in her mouth. It was flaky with pine nuts and goat cheese baked in. She chewed and shallowed. "I am. And you look very different without a flock of women on each arm.

"Ahhh, so you've read my books."

"I have," she admitted, spearing a cube of potato with her fork. "I read the _Tale of the Champion_ three times."

Varric pursed his lips and nodded, looking pleased. "Three times. I didn't think the Hero of Ferelden had time to do anything but find darkspawn, kill them, and maybe do some research on the side. From what I hear, you're an incredibly hard woman to find."

"From what you hear, I'm surprised you didn't say I had golden wings and breasts that can crush a darkspawn's skull." She took a bite out of the potato and tasted butter and thyme. "Both false, by the way."

"Well shit, there goes my next novel."

She laughed into a napkin, hiding the mushed potatoes in her mouth.

As she pulled apart her duck with fingers and fork, ate most of the grilled potatoes and baked bread, and washed it all down with a fruity Orlesian red wine, Varric proved to be excellent company. Far from the people she had come to know in that little village over the mountain, who had little to say besides what the weather would do to their cabbages and carrots and celery or how they had slaughtered one of their pigs that morning, going into excruciating detail about how they had sliced it up. No, Varric, instead, asked about her own story. Where she was from, what her friends were like, juicy details that would make any Chantry sister’s face turn red. Though, she confessed, there wasn't much to tell that he didn't already know. Unlike the Inquisition, there were very little secrets she kept regarding the Fifth Blight.

"And this research you're doing?" he asked as he politely pushed his empty plate away.

"Ahhh, see, _that_ is a secret, I'm afraid," she said, leaning back into her chair. “Official Grey Warden business, and all that.”

Varric nodded, accepting the answer. "That's fair. Disappointing, but fair."

Eveleen took a tentative sip of wine, studying Varric over the silver rim of her cup. There was an internal struggle between curiosity and courtesy going on in her head, regarding something she had been dying to know ever since she finished the _Tale of the Champion_. But would it be too personal? She bit her lips into a line and set down her cup. Curiosity, in the end, won.

"So…" she started. "About Hawke."

Varric held up a hand before she could finish. "I think I know where this is going. Yes, she really fought and killed the Arishok. No, it didn't start a full-fledged war with the Qunari. The Arishok didn't exactly have permission to attack Kirkwall, so they had disavowed his actions."

His answer sounded almost automatic, as though he had said it hundreds of times before. "Hmmm… Very interesting. But that wasn't what I was going to ask."

"Oh?"

Eveleen innocently dragged a finger around the rim of her cup. "Are you two… together?"

His laugh came deep but spirited, nearly drowning out the idle chatter filling the hall. A few people stopped talking all together and turned their heads to see where the noise had come from. He almost convinced her that her suspicions were wrong, but his cackling was almost too forceful. 

"I think you might have skipped over the part where Hawke fell madly in love with the mage who blew up the Chantry," he said, wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye.

"Oh, no," she said after she swallowed a sip of wine. "I read that part, believe me. And also the part where you called her 'a beauty that could match no other' and how she could 'bewitch even a Qunari with her looks alone.'"

"All for the sake of the story, I assure you." Varric lifted the goblet to his mouth. Eveleen could see the muscles in his neck work as he gulped. When he placed it back down on the table, all of the wine was gone. She poured him another glass. "Besides, Hawke hated it when I called her that. 'Call me charming and fearless more often!' she would say."

"Was she charming and fearless? Truly?"

Varric sat back and rubbed his chin. "She was fearless, I'll give her that. Explored every cave in Kirkwall whether the giant spiders living in them liked it or not. Heard there was a high dragon in the Bone Pit and thought it would be fun to slay it. Brought me along for that, though I suppose the party afterwards was worth it. Rivaini – ah, Isabela – got so drunk she kissed a nug on the lips. For a sovereign, of course." He swirled the wine around in his cup, tipped it back, then placed it on the table again. "Hawke would even wake us up in the middle of the night if she heard some drunk spouting off about some treasure he swore he found. Usually it ended up with us ass-deep in skeletons or deep stalkers or quicksand. They did make for great stories, though, which was what she loved the most. Almost ran me out of business with the way she told the Hanged Man about her adventures. Not always accurately, but, then again, I'm not exactly known to be honest either." A fleeting shimmer brightened his eyes. "The woman could lie. Had no tact, but could make a Chantry brother believe clouds were the Maker's farts. So her charm was… an acquired taste."

_Who you've certainly acquired_ , Eveleen thought, but she decided to let the subject drop. She had done enough prying.

 

—

 

Their conversation seamlessly flowed from story to story. As the duck and potato and bread shrunk down to empty dishes, so did the people in the grade hall. Many of them trailed off and disappeared behind doors, up stairways, and through halls, and the ones who lingered filled the throne room with mumbled talk. It was nearly noon when Varric pushed himself from the table. Three days from now he would leave for Kirkwall again, and by the sound of his voice, he both dreaded and was eager to return home. Before he excused himself, she thanked the dwarf for the company and the wine and asked if he could sign a copy of _Hard in Hightown_ when he had the chance. Varric bent in a low bow and said, "Anything for a fan."

Outside, the sun was bright against a clear blue sky. Only a few ribbons of white clouds streaked across the horizon, undisturbed by any hint of wind. Down below, the song of swords and shields lifted from the Inquisition soldiers. A man shouted orders over the hissing of steel against steel and the creaking of wood as the men and women blocked, lunged, and thrust. A strange sense of familiarity tingled the back of her neck as she watched the man stand in front of the training yard. She could not see his face, but his golden hair was sleek and clean. He was adorned in full armor with black fur pauldrons and red fabric draped across his back. The woman she saw yesterday amid the healers walked up to him, exchanged a few words, then left. But the feeling washed away as soon as Zevran passed behind her and pressed his fingers gently against her waist.

His hair had turned from gold to a fair yellow over the years. Shallow crows feet pinched the edge of his eyes and a crooked white scar ran across his jawline all the way to the tip of his chin. She couldn't quite remember how he had gotten it or if it had always been there, but she supposed it didn't matter. The years had been kind to him despite everything they had gone through.

Memories of their time together came flooding back to her.

Their relationship had started as a fling. Anything more would have been foolish given that he had been hired to kill her. Yet he failed, and his life had been in her hands. He had laid down his loyalty and his word, not that it had meant much. He'd been willing to exchange his duty to the Crows for his life, after all, but at the time, Eveleen needed all the help that offered. She'd given him one chance to prove his loyalty, though, in the end, he'd given her seven. And so as the months had passed, Eveleen still found herself inviting Zevran to her tent. And why not? It was fun and she was stressed and he was willing. It was after he'd revealed his true reason for accepting the contract, wanting to die in battle after Rinna's unnecessary death, that something had changed. They were no longer looking for frivolous touches and a quick release in the middle of the night.

There was something behind their kisses, something that wiggled deep in her chest as they laid panting and sweating underneath her tent, that had left her wanting more, and it had frightened her.

Coming to care for someone had always given the templars another reason to torment the mages. It was dangerous and reckless. She had taken her pleasures where she could — in linen closets and cupboards filled with potions and herbs and in the far corners of the library where old books laid collecting dust. Both mages and templars had their hands up her skirts, but it never meant anything more. 

Eveleen had seen where love led in the Circle. If the templars caught wind of any true relationship going on under their noses, they would have tormented the partners until they were so overcome by fright that they would break up. Once, she remembered, two mages had been caught in the same bed one morning. The templars had taken one and thrown him in the dungeon for years. Whether he died in his cell or if he escaped, she didn’t know, but that was the day Eveleen swore off love for good.

But as Zevran dangled his jeweled earring in front of her after their fight with Tallisen, Eveleen knew it had been more than just a thank you. And to her surprise, and, she had to admit, slight horror, she wanted that earring very much. She had tried to get Zevran to say what it had meant to him, not to mock him, but as much as it terrified her, she needed to hear it, to know that what they had was not just some fleeting romance that would end as soon as the archdemon was slain. 

He had not taken it well, and snapped the earring back into his pocket saying, "You don't want the earring? You don't get the earring."

In the following days, he had distanced himself from her. Refusing to join her in her tent, taking separate watches where in the past he had always stayed with her, and ignoring her when she passed. But she had not pushed and she had not pried because she had known all too well what he had been feeling. She, too, had been confused. She had half the mind to think a templar would jump out of the bushes and toss her in a jail cell to rot.

Days had gone by until Zevran had finally pulled her aside at the edge of the forest and had offered the earring again. It had shone brilliantly against the silver moonlight as he laid it flat against his palm. He had held it out in the empty space between them and explained that a life of an assassin left little room for love.

"I thought it was the same between us," he had said. "Something to enjoy, a pleasant diversion and little more. And yet…"

_You and I are not so different. I want this_. "I'm as terrified as you, Zevran," she had admitted out loud, looking at the earring. ”But I'm willing to put that aside and be brave if you are."

Zevran had inched his hand closer to her. "I am offering the earring once again... as a token of my affections. To be with you always."

She had smiled and closed the earring around her fingers.

She wrapped an arm around his back and hugged him close to her side.

"How did you like the duck?" she asked.

Zevran shook his head in disgust. "A duck without spice is like a brothel without prostitutes. Boring and disappointing. It did not even leave me begging and panting. Though I suppose it was better than what that village fed us."

"Not missing the hard bread and grey stew?" she asked lightly.

He made a noise in the back of his throat. "Such cruelty. Do not make me think of such things."

Chuckling, Eveleen took his arm from her waist and wove her fingers through his. "Do you remember where the rookery is?"

Zevran could not help the teasing grin growing on his lips. "Do not tell me you forgot all ready."

She did not answer.


	3. Chapter Three

Once at the rookery, Zevran swept his arm out in front of him and bowed his head in a mocking manner, but with one pinch to his side, he held his hands up in surrender, kissed her goodbye, and made his way back down the stairs again. Leliana was not there as Eveleen had hoped. In her place was a half-eaten plate of food, some rolls of parchment, a couple of books, and a note. Against her better judgement, Eveleen reached over, grabbed the letter, and skimmed it. _On the Condition of Your Charges_ , she read. One of her spies, Sparrow, had taken care of Leliana's nugs. Schmooples the Second. The first Schmooples, the one Eveleen had given her, must have passed away. But she was glad Leliana's love of nugs was not lost and that some part of the bard still remained. She jumped at the sound of a squawk from above and let the letter fall from her hand.

The ravens' cages hung haphazardly from the beams, each one with the eye of the Inquisition poking out from the bottom like a spike. Overhead, sunlight slanted in through cracks in the round roof. Down below, Eveleen could see the library. She had seen a great many libraries, from ancient ones long forgotten to the tiniest that held but one shelf filled with tomes in a language she could not read. And for the Inquisition, their library was lacking. The Circle had a better collection. A man with a twirly mustache noticed her, smiled, and waved his fingers. Eveleen politely waved back. Below that was the rotunda with the wall of frescos and a desk. On top was a keystone, curious that it would be out in the open, but it must have been left there for good reason.

The rookery itself looked as though it was mere storage space with crates, barrels, sacks of seed, and small square hay bales lining the walls. There was, however, a tiny chapel lit up with the warm glow of wax candles. In the middle was a white marble case with gold trim, and inside, an idol of Andraste. Standing as guards on either side were wooden statues, though Eveleen did not know who they were. A prayer book, the edge of its pages worn with use, laid open on a low bench, and next to it was a silver cup with puffs of smoke curling away through the holes in the lid.

"Were you waiting for me?"

The sweet voice made her heart pound. She did not hear Leliana approach. "I thought you would be up here."

Leliana stood beside her and fixed her eyes on Andraste. "I was, though the Inquisitor called for a meeting. Were you waiting long?"

"Not at all," she said with a polite wave of her hand. Eveleen was hoping she would catch the bard alone so that they may talk, but now that they were together, she was having trouble thinking of any subject that might be appropriate for the future Divine. ”Lunch was excellent, by the way."

Leliana smiled. "I will tell the Inquisitor you said so."

"Or the cooks..."

"Lady Trevelyan is one of the cooks,” she explained, strolling over towards the table with the half-eaten food on top, “when she has the time."

"You're kidding," Eveleen said, following behind her.

The spymaster sat down and nudged her plate aside. A raven swooped down out of nowhere and started to peck at the roast duck, but Leliana did not seem bothered. "Not at all. Rania is an excellent cook. She said she had learned at the Ostwick Circle. Though mostly she tends to the sick and wounded."

Eveleen crossed her legs under the table. "She sounds more like a Chantry sister."

Something about that made Leliana chuckle. "Oh, she would have done terribly in an abbey. The Inquisitor is kind in her own way, but she is a leader more than anything. She would have hated being preached to by a Mother. Have you seen her yet?” she added shortly.

Eveleen thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think I have. I don’t know what she looks like, do I?”

“You might have seen her bossing her mages around her healing tents,” Leliana said, not without a tiny smirk.

She remembered how the plump woman with brown skin and hair, growing up as though it had been shaved, ordered the healers and surgeons about and how they all seemed to do as she said without question. Out of fear or out of respect, Eveleen did not know, though she hoped for the latter.

"Have you spoken with her?" the spymaster asked. When Eveleen shook her head, she said, ”I believe the two of you would get along. She is like an overbearing mother who thinks she knows best, but past that, she is not a hard woman to like. Speak with her. I am sure she would love it."

Eveleen pursed her lips. "Why do I feel like this is a trap?"

"No trap," Leliana said, but her smirk said differently. "I swear.”

The raven's beak clank, clank, clanked against the metal plate, searching for more meat to fill its belly. Leliana dipped her fingers in a cup of corn and produced a handful of kernels. One by one the raven pecked at the bits of corn in Leliana's palm, and soon a strained silence hung over them. It was not that Leliana was no longer the bard Eveleen had known so long ago, though that was surely some of it. Divine Victoria was a woman who Eveleen feared she would not get along with. When the raven saw that there was no more corn in the spymaster's hand, it squawked, ruffled its feathers, and flew off. Leliana shook out her hand, placed it on her lap.

"You do not know how to speak with me," she said, looking at Eveleen from behind her cowl. Her blue eyes gleamed against the shadows. The sun was directly behind her, and through the window panes, a golden halo was shining on her head.

_She seems to know everything_ , _even my thoughts_. "I... don't exactly know how to speak with a Divine."

"I am not Divine yet," she said. A page approached the table and took up the empty plate. Leliana nodded her thanks. "Though I can see why you would be uneasy. People seem to have the idea that I know all of their secrets and will exploit them as soon as I sit on the sunburst throne. But that was the old Chantry, and I hope to change that."

"I think they're more frightened of Sister Nightingale than Divine Victoria. And what she will do with them if they cross her. You have made plenty of names for yourself, Leliana."

"Divine Justinia had a hand in that."

"And now her hand is ash." When the bard's eyes flashed, Eveleen quickly added, "I meant no offense. I know Justinia was like a sister to you. A mother. But you are not the Left Hand of the Divine anymore. You are the Divine. Let them know who Leliana is, and they will love you. But do not lose yourself in another name." She took her friend's hand then and squeezed. "I could not bare it."

"The Breach is sealed, but the world still lies in ruins. I must be the one to fix that, and it won't be done with songs and stories. The Inquisitor showed me that mercy is not a weakness. Justinia's final wish was to release me. I know I am no longer the Left Hand. But Thedas needs Divine Victoria… I will always be Leliana to my friends, to you."

With one last squeeze, Eveleen released her fingers. Gold and silks would look lovely on Leliana, but what those riches entailed… Even if Leliana thought differently, she too often let others decide her life for her. Eveleen just hoped that it would be Divine Victoria making the decisions and not some whispers in her ear. She asked, "What are your plans as the new Divine? Follow in Justinia's footsteps?"

"No," Leliana said firmly. "I will walk along side them. I want the world to see how welcoming the Chantry could be. How charitable and loving. Humans, elves, dwarves, even Qunari will be loved. Unconditionally. But Justinia only did so much to weigh the scales; I will make sure to tip them. The mages will be free to govern themselves, for they are the Makers children just as I am."

A world where mages were free. Children will no longer be ripped from their mothers arms. There would be no more templars watching them, tormenting them, hunting them. A mage will be able to live a life without fear, without thinking they were cursed but gifted. It seemed too good to be true, and something Eveleen has wanted for quite some time. But with the world on the brink of change... "You will make enemies."

"There will always be enemies."

Frustration grew, but Eveleen made sure not to show it. "You will be in danger."

Leliana's laughter came sweet but there was a coldness to it. "We are always in danger. You know this as much as I do." Standing up, Leliana gave a sad smile. An older smile. As though she were preaching a child innocent of the world. "You are a dear friend to me, Eveleen. One of the only people I truly trust. I hope that will not change."

Standing, she looked down on her friend, but did not reach for her. "Never."

 

—

 

The night was black and still. Not a draft crept through the cracks in the door, nor did the leaves rustle outside their room. The only times the candles flickered was when either passed by, and the only thing that filled the silence was the swish of cotton sheets as Eveleen positioned herself behind Zevran's back.

Long angry lines marked his skin, swelling with drops of blood. "I scratched too hard."

Zevran did not so much as flinch when she ran her thumb over the thin red welts. She was no healer, but even so a fine layer of ice coated her palm as she pulled from the Fade. Hopefully, it would help the swelling go down. She pressed it against his skin, and Zevran sighed.

"I have endured worse, in and out of the bedroom," he assured her with a laugh.

Eveleen did not join him. She concentrated on the frost prickling her fingers and ignored the whispers of spirits in her ear. The ice chimed like thousands of tiny bells, cracking and crunching each time she smoothed out a knot in his back. Zevran sighed into each touch as goosebumps pimpled across his back. She ran her hand over the rest of the scratches until each line was a little less red. She never did have the stomach for healing and had always left it to Wynne. Just thinking about magic stringing bloody wounds together made her lightheaded.

"You do not have to do this," he insisted. Eveleen pushed his shoulder back when he tried to move.

"I do." Her voice was harder than she had intended.

"I will venture a guess and say that this is about our sweet Sister."

Ice melted into his shoulder. "Divine."

"Ahhh..."

Eveleen released her grip on the Fade and let the ice drip off her hand. Naked, she swung her legs to the floor and made for the goblet on the table. The wine rippled black and red against the flames as she tilted it back and drank, then she sunk into a chair, chestnut hair tumbling forward in loose waves as she held her face in her hands.

“It is unfortunate, but people change, _mi amor_."

The bed squeaked as Zevran stood. When Eveleen leaned back, he was pouring his third cup from a pitcher Varric had generously given them to take to their room. They had enjoyed it, and by now, it was less than half-full. He drank the Orlesian red in two big gulps, then smacked his lips and nodded.

“Have some more wine. It is Orlesian, but it will do.”

Out the window she saw nothing but stars and the top of a tree as still as black stone. The magic in this place, soaked deep into its walls, was unlike anything Eveleen had ever felt before. With each step she could feel it seep into the soles of her feet through the bottom of her leather boots. She could remember a house with grass sprouting from its roof nestled in the swooping hills of a village she could not name. Out front was an ordinary garden full of squash and cabbages and spinach, and further out was green grass that stretched on for miles, only a single black windmill blemishing the horizon. Then a book, it's cover painted gorgeously. It showed a castle in a summer wood, its trees painted in jade and sky blue. Ivy crawled around the edges, and in the foliaged were little critters: foxes and sparrows and deers. She did not know the name of the book, but she knew it had once brought her peace. 

"We could stay here," she blurted out.

Zevran was sipping on his fourth cup of wine when he looked down at her. "No, Eveleen, we cannot."

“But look at this place, Zevran. There’s protection.” Leaning forward, she slid her hands around the backs of his thighs. "No darkspawn, no... anything. There's decent food and lots of wine and —"

"Did finding the cure for the Calling suddenly become unimportant?" With his free hand, he untangled himself from Eveleen's arms and drank the rest of his wine. His voice betrayed him, and he sounded hurt.

When the possibility of a cure for the Calling arose, Eveleen was the first to snatch the opportunity. A Grey Warden had thirty years to live if lucky, and if unlucky, ten. And Eveleen did not want to be one of the unlucky ones. A coward was what some people would called her for being afraid of the Calling, but as a woman, her fate down in the depths of the Deep Roads was far worse than death. Black spit dribbling down its chins as round fingers played at its breasts, slimy and wet and shining. The thought of the broodmother made her shudder.

"Of course not!” she answered, temper suddenly rising. "I want to die of old age, not this _taint_. And I want to do it with you by my side. But I have this feeling that something is coming, Zevran. Something bad. And with Leliana..."

"You have these feelings all the time, no?" he spat back. With one last gulp of wine, he slammed the goblet onto the table, tiny droplets splattering the wood, and began to stuff his legs into his pants. ”Leliana is to be Divine. You cannot stop this. She will be in danger. You cannot stop this. The world will continue to go on. You. Cannot. Stop. This.” He angrily tugged on the strings of his trousers, nearly snapping them. “Life is unfair, Eveleen. It always has, and it always will be. This will not change, Leliana Divine or no. But what can be changed is the Calling, yes? And to give the Grey Wardens who had no _choice_ a chance for once.”

The wine was going to her head, the magic through her feet. She pinched the bridge of her nose. All she wanted was to crawl into bed, and under the covers, sleep until whatever was coming passed. He was right, of course. Eveleen had always tried to persuade herself into thinking she was the sort of person who left her life up to chance, but that wasn’t true. Deep down, she comforted in knowing where her life would end up. She liked routine; she liked things to be her way, and anything different only made her anxious. And here, in Skyhold, she could have that. She could wake up every morning in the same bed, the same room, eat breakfast every morning with the same people. She could walk the battlements and pass the same guards, who would wave or nod to her. But her life was too complicated for what she wanted, and the look on Zevran’s face, now somber and sympathetic, told her as such.

He now brushed a thumb against her cheek, taking away a tear. “My temper…”

“You’re Antivan,” she teased, taking a napkin from the table and dabbing at her eyes. “I’ve come to expect it.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He raised her hand to brush a kiss against each knuckle. “Come, let us sleep off the wine.”

Eveleen rolled into bed, covered herself in the plush sheets, and sighed. Her head was swimming with wine and red-heads. She wanted Leliana back to the way she was. _I know I am no longer the Left Hand. But Thedas needs Divine Victoria… I will always be Leliana to my friends, to you._ She didn’t believe it. Leliana will hide behind another name, just as she has before.

Zevran crawled in after her, and suddenly his face was hovering above hers. He curled an arm around her shoulder, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and fell back against his pillow.

“Zevran,” Eveleen whispered, curling against his side, “promise me you’ll never change.”

"Me?" he said with a weak smile, eyes drooping. “Never."


	4. Chapter Four

Morning came before Eveleen was ready to greet it. Rolling over, she groaned and put a hand to her head, thinking that it would pacify the constant pounding against her skull. There was too much wine. Why did she drink so much? She dared not open her eyes to see how much of it was left, if any at all. The light would send her reeling. At least the Fade had spared her of dreams last night. Or perhaps she was too drunk to remember them. She sprawled an arm out wide to see if it would connect with Zevran, but all she felt was warmish, empty sheets.

"What time is it?" she whispered, hoping he was still in the room.

She flinched when his voice was nearer than she had expected. "Noon, I think. Mid-morning? No… Noon. No, I take that back. Hmmm…"

"It does not matter," she groaned.

His cool lips came upon her neck, but she was too tired to push him away. "Do all humans suffer such hangovers?"

"No," she said, dryly. "I'm the lucky one.

Laughter crashed against the back of her head. _He does this on purpose. He's teasing me._ But she would have done the same.

"Food?"

Her stomach growled loudly. The appetite of a Grey Warden was unforgiving.

"Maker, yes."

Zevran came back with two plates piled high with food. There was smoked ham glazed with honey, stuffed with cloves, and garnished with dried cherries, smothered spinach with salt and blood sausage, and those biscuits baked with pine nuts and goat cheese. Forgetting her headache, Eveleen threw back the sheets, pulled a shirt over her head, and snatched a biscuit before Zevran set the plates on the table. She broke it opened. Steam wafted from the flaky dough, and cheese oozed out of the middle. She ripped off a piece and popped it in her mouth.

While Zevran picked at his ham and ate most of the spinach, Eveleen scarfed down her food until nothing was left, then picked at the elf's when he pushed the plate away. Embarrassed, she only allowed her close friends to see the true appetite of a Grey Warden. The rest were led to believe that she actually had manners. When she was done, she washed it all down with lemon water sweetened with sugar, thanked Zevran, and dressed herself in what she wore yesterday.

"Have you looked around yet?" she asked as she tied her hair in a high ponytail. It had gotten longer, the ends brushing against the nap of her neck each time she turned her head.

"Mmm, some. There is a garden down below. It is nice… for a garden. Have you seen the frescos? You have? Ahhh, those were fine work. And my little dwarf friend, Varric. We have met in Kirkwall. I have not seen our curly-headed Commander, I am afraid. I think he is avoiding me. Ahhh, let’s see. Hmmm… Yes! There is a qunari — ah, rather, Tal-Vashoth — in the tavern. He is… How can I put this? He could have twisted Sten into an Antivan bow knot. I have met this Cassandra, too. She could make a very good Ferelden with the way she threatened to chop both of my heads off. HA! 

“Ahhhh, and then there was Josephine,” Zevran sighed wistfully. “Such a beauty. It is too bad our Divine caught me complementing Lady Montilyet. It was innocent, really, but she will kill me, I do not doubt.”

"Or have someone else do it."

That gave him pause. "No… Would she?"

Eveleen did not answer.

"Hmm… Anyway, there is a mage tower I think you would enjoy. There are all sorts of… mage things in there. Not to mention a rather handsome man. I have invited him up tonight.”

She smiled down at her boots as she tied the laces. "Really? What does he look like?”

"Dark skin, black hair. Clean-shaven, do not fret. You still hate beards, yes? Yes, good. He has no beard. Lean, from what I could tell. He did have on those robes I hate so much. Ah, but he had lips as soft as pillows."

"You kissed him all ready?" She smoothed down her blue robe to get out all the wrinkles and plucked some lint from its fabric.

"No, no," he said, waving his hands. "I know the rule. No sex or kissing unless you are involved. But they certainly looked soft."

With delicate fingers, Eveleen wrapped a strand of hair behind his ear. Thanks to her full belly, her headache had receded to a dull thud behind her eyes. She took one last gulp of sweetened lemon water and swallowed. "Invite him up tonight. We leave tomorrow, and we haven't had company in some time."

As the day died around her, Eveleen explored the entirety of Skyhold. The garden was lush and green with a well in the middle and pots of elfroot, spindelweed, and blood lotus sprouting from the rich soil. She passed by a small gazebo with a chessboard underneath its roof, half-played from the looks of it. Through one door was a storage closet and through another was a chapel, this one with a large-scale Andraste statue, high stain-glass windows, and a cluster of red candles by her feet. Dust was disturbed on the wooden kneeler at the base of the statue, leading Eveleen to believe that it had been recently used. She found a tiny hall that lead to an even tinier library with dust blanketing the books and shelves and cobwebs adorning the walls like milky-white curtains. In the middle was a desk and plush chair, and on the desk was an opened book as long and thick as a block of stone. The pages were weathered and the words were hidden under so many layers of cobwebs and dust that Eveleen had no desire to disturb it.

Through an archway was a cellar and on the wall was an impressive collection of vintage spirits. Grey Warden Whiskey, Sun Blonde Vint-1, Golden Scythe 4:90 Black, West Hill Brandy. Some names had Eveleen laughing silently to herself (despite the pounding behind her eyes growing stronger) such as Antivan Sip-Sip, Dragon Piss, Alvarado's Bathtub Boot Screech, and Butterbile 7:84. She passed the kitchens where she thanked the sweeping cooks for her lunch, and out the door, the sun greeted her. Skyhold's barn rose almost as high as the stronghold's walls. Inside, the same grizzled man with black slicked hair and pointed beard was attending to the horses, rubbing a chestnut stallion's nose as it nibbled hay from his other hand. She descended the steps and left the barn at her back. She had no love for horses.

Out in the courtyard, two women practiced with sword and shield, both encased in Inquisition armor. One was tall with thick arms and a broad chest. A sprinkle of freckles dotted her face and ginger hair whirled about her shoulders in a tight plait. The other was smaller, quicker, with mousy brown curls and a scar that slashed across her face, taking the tip of her nose. A knot of Orlesian men and women watched from a distanced. An elven man and woman spoke with each other in their own tongue. Eveleen only knew a few words from the books in the Circle library. Some she picked up here and there on her travels, but not enough to understand what they were saying. She approached the tavern that jutted out from the battlements. Above, a beautifully painted sign of Andraste swung in the light breeze. She stood tall and strong with a burst of white light behind her, wrapped in white linens and a golden crown on top her head. The iron hinges squealed as Eveleen pushed the door open.

The tavern was filled with song from a minstrel who sang over the murmurs. The fireplace in the middle and the weathered rugs thrown on the floor kept the room warm and cozy. A few individuals glanced her way, but other than that people seemed more interested in their flagons and gossip. Looking over at the bar made her head pound, so she decided to take a look at the second level. As she climbed the stairs, the massive Tal-Vashoth Zevran had mentioned caught her eye. And how could it not? The man was enormous with horns as wide as his broad shoulders. His long, thick legs were sprawled out in front of him as he leaned into his throne like a king, shirtless except for a boiled leather harness that wrapped around his solid chest. Before he could catch her staring, Eveleen was on the second level. Fewer people occupied the table and chairs, and in a corner, in a richly lit room full of treasure and sheer fabric that caught the sunlight in a rainbow of colors, a blond elf sat cross-legged on a bench with a biscuit between her teeth and an arrow in her hand.

Up on the third level there was no one. Dust motes swam through the beams of golden light filtering through the slanted rooftop. In a corner was a chest and a chair but nothing else. Below, the minstrel changed her tune, and together the people sang with her. Their voices carried, boastful and proud. She remembered when Leliana had hummed under her breath, when Zevran had sung and Alistair had whistled and Oghren had belched out a few tunes. But it had not lasted long. Soon the weight of the war had smothered the music, and all that had been left was a frightened silence.

Eveleen left the music and warmth behind as she entered a bedroom, destroyed through the years with a busted roof and vines climbing up the wall. There was an ax stuck hard through a bedpost, debris collecting in the corners, a copy of _Hard in Hightown_ sitting unopened on a three-legged stool. Out on the battlements, the wind tugged on her robes and hair, lashing around like a whip. A couple of soldiers nodded their heads in greeting as they passed by. One, an elf with hair so blonde it was almost silver and the other, a Rivaini human, his golden nose piercing glinting in the sun. After they left, Eveleen was alone. She stepped up to the wall, leaned on her hands, and looked down.

The world fell away into a deep valley with a frozen river twisting wide and long in the middle. Drifts of snow curled like snail shells in the wind over the rocky shoreline. Trees stood like black toothpicks against the pure white ground, and for miles, there was nothing but icy mountain tops taking up half the sky. 

There, Eveleen thought back to the fight she had with Zevran last night. She had no clue how seriously he had been taking this cure; though, in all honesty, she should have known. For the first time, she did not think about how unfair the Calling was to Grey Wardens, but to their loved ones, who, though not as severely, were effected by the Calling as well. When she was handed that goblet of darkspawn blood and magic, Eveleen didn’t think anyone would miss her when her duty was fulfilled. It wasn’t depressing, but a fact, and she never thought of it as anything but. But when Zevran became a part of her life, when Leliana and Wynne and Sten became her friends, she thought back to that day again and again and realized how very unfair the Joining actually was.

She will always be thankful for Duncan, for the Wardens, for welcoming her into their family, for freeing her from the Circle. That was a debt she can never repay, but the price she had, had to pay for Joining… It was either live as a Warden and die, be killed by refusing to drink from the goblet, or die from the taint as soon as it touched your lips. Every now and then, when she and Zevran find a place of comfort, a place of a promise of home, she cannot help but feel like giving up and let the Calling take her. She was getting older and more tired, almost hitting forty years old. Some mornings she would wake up with swelled joints and backaches, other mornings she would lie in bed for several minutes before the pain eased off of her feet and shoulders. 

Eveleen pushed off the wall and sighed. Zevran was right. Life was unfair. It wasn’t Duncan’s fault. He was only following tradition… So if tradition changed by finding the cure, she could give the Wardens some peace of mind, a quiet life, and a natural death. That would be her debt paid.

For the rest of the day, she walked the battlements, listened to the soldiers and civilians, and watched the day die around the Keep. The sun was setting low behind the mountains, shadows grew and with them, the cold. It was dusk when she approached the last tower, connected to the castle by an overpass. With the flat of her hand, she pushed opened the door, and inside was the Inquisitor and Cullen. They were bent over a heap of papers spread out over a thick wooden desk. Clusters of wax candles framed the desk, their flames flickering wildly over the parchment.

"What is it?" asked Cullen without looking up from his desk.

Eveleen closed the door behind her. "Is that any way to greet an old friend?"

Both Cullen and Lady Trevelyan tilted their head up. The Inquisitor was plump with wide hips and round shoulders. She had a turned up nose, eyes the color of bark, and light brown skin, and her dark brown hair was cut short. Scars were healing over her face and neck, the work of Corypheus and his dragon. Rania arched one thick brow, but as soon as Cullen saw her, his eyes grew as wide as eggs and his mouth hung open.

"Eveleen," he breathed, but then sputtered out, "I mean, Amell…Uh, Warden-Commander. Pardon my manners.

"You're the Hero of Ferelden?" the Inquisitor said in shock. She rounded the corner of the desk with ease and stuck out a hand. Eveleen took it. Rania had a soft grip, but a firm handshake. Cullen stayed behind, blinking. "I've heard so much about you. Or, at least, what I could pry out of people. Cullen doesn't seem to like to talk about you much."

“Uhm, Inquisitor, that's not…"

"Oh, don't act so shy now," she told him. Turning back to Eveleen, she said, "How are you liking Skyhold? How’s your room? I've only heard of your arrival today, but I've been so busy I haven't had the time to greet you formally. If Leliana would have told me sooner that you were coming, I would have made time. But she seems to have this thing about keeping secrets."

Eveleen patted Rania's hand before letting go and smiled. “Oh, so you’ve noticed that too? Well, unfortunately for us, she’s always been that way.”

“Well that’s a shame. It’s not like I need to know what’s going on around the world or even my own castle. It’s not like I’m Inquisitor or anything.”

“Ra— Lady Trevelyan,” Cullen warned from behind them.

The Inquisitor pursed her lips. “Right. I hope you didn’t have any trouble getting through the gate. I—“

“Well…”

Cheeks burning red, Rania slapped a palm on Cullen’s desk, making Amell jump and sending the flames of the candles flickering. “Oh I knew it. I _knew_ it. ‘These guards will do just fine, Inquisitor.’ ‘Don’t worry, they’re not as stupid as they look, Inquisitor.’”

“Ran— Trevelya— _Inquisitor_ ,” Cullen sputtered, looking back and forth from Rania and Eveleen.

But Rania went on, her angry flush dropping down to her neck. “‘Grey Wardens are free to enter,’ I told them! They are no longer a threat! And you’re a mage! If they didn’t know I was one as well, they’re in for a _nasty_ surprise. A fire spell will teach them—“

“ _You cannot punish soldiers with magic, Inquisitor_ ,” Cullen said. His face had turned slack and as white as the snow outside.

An expression suddenly passed Trevelyan’s face as though all of her anger had deflated. Her blush faded and the fist she was holding now curled away. “Right. You’re right. Of course. That was a mistake to say. I’m sorry.” She turned to the Commander, and, in a whisper so low Eveleen had to strain to hear, said, “I’m sorry, Cullen.”

It is no secret that mages could often lose their tempers, what with being locked up for most of their lives, but something passed between Cullen and Rania, something Eveleen did not understand, something that was left unsaid. And then it hit her. Cullen at the top of the tower, tortured mad with demons and magic. Of course he wouldn’t have taken Rania’s threat carelessly.

Suddenly, Eveleen found herself speaking. “You know, I’ve taken care of those guards for you. What I mean… I’ve threatened to conscript one of them. It shut him right up.”

Rania moved towards her then. “Did you?” But at the same time, Cullen asked, “Should you use the Order like that?”

Eveleen waved a hand in front of her. “Oh, I do it all the time. It comes in handy, actually. It keeps… unwanted attention away.”

“Ah,” they said together.

“Anyway, I think they were more afraid of Zevran than they were of me.”

"Someone else is with you?" asked Rania.

“Ahhh…” she chuckled. “You might have heard of an Antivan elf trying to woo his way around the Keep.”

The Inquisitor pursed her lips again, unamused. "Yes. Cassandra was complaining about him yesterday. To me. As soon as I saved southern Thedas, I've become the world's babysitter. Though I suppose I’ll have to see if she’s done any damage because of it.” Sighing, she stepped up to Cullen, who was incredibly silent picking at the thread in his gloves, and said, gently, "Remember the supplies for Scout Harding."

"I know," he said.

As she backed out of the office, she ticked off the things he needed to get done on one hand. "There's also a meeting tomorrow after lunch.

"And you need to talk with the quartermaster about new helms. One of Leliana's scouts have seen a pack of wolves near, so you also need to send some of your soldiers to deal with them. And don't forget about sending that letter to your sister, or I'll never hear the end of it. You of all people know how she gets.”

"Yes, I know. I've written all of this down," he said, resting his hands on the hilt of his sword.

With one round finger, she pointed at Cullen and narrowed her eyes, but all of her bluster was lost, leaving her with an almost regretful expression. "Don't. Forget. It was nice meeting you, Eveleen.

When she closed the door, the Hero and Cullen were left alone. And the silence that followed was awkward. Wind brushed up against the door, making its iron hinges squeak. Books and scrolls were everywhere — strewn across the desk, stuffed into shelves, and stacked up on the floor in piles three feet tall. There was a straw dummy in the corner with a knife hilt-deep in its face. She never would have guessed Cullen was so messy given that he had seemed so put together in his templar armor.

Eveleen stood in the middle of the room, staring at a brown cloak draped over Cullen's chair. The Commander must have noticed because suddenly, a hand came into view and grasped it by the fur lining.

"Ah, Lady Trevelyan must have left it here," he said before clearing his throat. He slung it over his arm.

"She did seem like she was in a hurry to leave," Eveleen noticed. “And…”

“Angry?” he said.

“Well…”

“She hasn’t said something like that in… years, to be perfectly honest. I think she was just as shocked as I was. Now that Corypheus is defeated and the Breach is sealed for good, there is more work to be done than ever. With reconstruction, land squabbles, trade agree—" he paused, narrowing his eyes. "I get the feeling you're not here to talk about the Inquisition's efforts."

The corner of her mouth tilted into a tiny smirk. "No, I'm not. Though it doesn’t look like you’re very happy to see me.”

She noticed him tightening his grip on the cloak. "I never believed in ghosts," he said.

Eveleen tilted her head, confused. “Sorry?”

"No, it's only... What I meant to say..." He sighed, frustrated. "I've always wondered what I would say, but I never thought I would have the chance to speak with you again. And now... No note, no... I have half the mind to think you're not really here."

"The mind has a way of playing tricks on you, this I know all too well," she said, remembering all those lonely nights without her companions, the nights she spend wide awake in the Circle listening to her fellow mages snore and talk and sometimes scream in their sleep. Nights when the nightmares seemed all too real and she could feel the taint pump through her veins like sewage. Eveleen took a step forward and placed her hands on his arms. "But I can tell you that this is no dream. If it were I'd be ten years younger sitting on a throne of beautiful men and women, no scar, and all the vanilla custard I could eat without gaining a pound. But all I see is you nearly tearing the fur off that cloak."

"What? Oh!" Several stitches broke under Cullen's fingers, leaving a tiny hole in the seam. "Maker, now I'll have to find someone to patch it up before she finds out.”

The mage chuckled. "Not very forgiving, is she?"

"Only when she wants to be," he mumbled, worrying over the small rip. He smoothed the fur over the seam and looked up. "Why are you here? I mean, I'm glad that you are, but…"

Eveleen let her hands fall and stepped back. The flames of his candles danced as she passed her fingers over them. "Leliana invited me. Scary how much information she has with her now. Zevran and I make it a priority to hide our location from the Crows. Not that they're very smart, mind you."

"Are you in trouble?"

"No. Well, yes, but nothing to concern yourself with. Just a ten year grudge they won't let go."

"Will it interfere with finding the cure for the Calling?"

Taking her hand from the flames, Eveleen looked up at the Commander and smirked. The question was so innocent she almost had to laugh. He wasn't trying to get information from her; he was only concerned. She thought back to Varric, and said, "I see the Inquisitor isn't very good at keeping secrets."

"No, she is, actually. The fault is mine. I saw the letter on her desk, and…"

_And what was the Commander doing in Lady Trevelyan's private quarters?_ Eveleen wondered, though she already had a clue. A smile played in her lips, but she bite it down and looked into the flame again. "It only makes finding it a little harder. Go into a village, get attacked by a Crow, and suddenly no one wants to talk to you."

"We've had dealing with the Crows. Paid thugs with a clever title. That's all they are. But I don't underestimate them. Leliana reports that there are several contracts on the Inquisitor's life. I... wish you luck."

"Thank you, Cullen."

They were far too high for there to be crickets chirping and far too late for birds to sing. Soldiers boasted outside, somewhere on the ramparts. A long, loud burp, and then a chorus of laughter rang deep but sharp. A cause may change, but soldiers never did. She remembered the night before her fight with the archdemon. Morale was high along with the voices that sang songs of brilliant knights and bloody battles. Of pretty maidens and fearless bears. She and Zevran joined them that night. Learned of their families and lovers, of tales that left them scarred. They drank to be merry, to forget. For courage. They sang and they howled with laughter. The fires warmed them. Flags stood tall and proud holding the heraldry of dwarves and Dalish and human. House Aeducan, a golden dwarf of stone on a field of black. The Dalish, an emerald mask made of leaves on a field of green. The Circle, with its stark white ring on a field of red. And the bannermen and women proud to serve their lords and ladies. The brown bear of Amaranthine on a field of black; Denerim itself with its green sun and blue shield; Redcliffe with its tower on a red cliff because everyone knows how clever Fereldens are. And of course, the infamous silver griffon on a field of blue. Out of respect or because they knew they would not be here standing, fighting, without the past sacrifices the Grey Wardens have made.

Soft as a whisper but powerful enough to break Eveleen from her thoughts, Cullen said, "I still remember that night in the tower. How I acted. What I... said to you."

She remembered as well, but obviously very differently. "Cullen, you were hurt. No one is blaming you."

"I am. I was... not my best after..." The wind whistled through the archer window. For a while, he fell silent, staring at the flames of the candles until he looked up with an expression she knew all too well. It was as though they were back in the Tower again. "I… I want to apologize. When you last saw me, I said things to you that I am not proud of. There is no excuse I could give you that would make what I said right."

A suit of armor could not have protected him from what those mages and demons did to his mind. Not then, and not now. "You were in no position to think clearly. Did you spend all these years with this regret?"

"How could I not? If it hadn't been for you, I would be dead or completely mad. And I repaid your mercy with mistrust and anger."

"I don't understand. How?"

"After Kinloch, I was sent to Kirkwall," he said. "I served under Knight-Commander Meredith for years, never realizing she was using my feelings towards mages until it was too late. I knew magic served a purpose, but that didn't make me hate it any less. If keeping the mages locked up helped protect the innocent. But I'm sure you know what happened there. Bloodmages, mad templars, qunari, and the Chantry exploding. Meredith went mad. Ordered the Rite of Annulment. What she did... It was not what the Order stood for. I commanded her to step down, and she turned on me.”

News about Cullen ended as soon as she passed through the Circle's door for the last time. She hadn't a clue where he was or what he was doing. Every now and then she had wonder where the awkward templar with the puppy-dog eyes had ended up, but now that he was in front of her again… It was strange talking with someone who knew her before she was the Hero and even before she was a Grey Warden. If she had changed any, it wasn't as though she would have noticed, but Eveleen wondered if Cullen saw it. A change in her that no one else could see. But even if he had, he made no mention. She could see a change in him, though. Now, he had a purpose he never doubted. He finally had a place where he belonged in the world, and through all of his sufferings, he deserved this. The Inquisition was lucky to have him.

"You stood up and defended what you thought was right. Very few people do that. It's easy to sit and watch hate spread through this world. It's easy to act on it. But when it counted most, you saw the cruelty, and you said 'no'. Somewhere along the line, you put aside your feelings on magic, and you did the right thing." Eveleen tilted her head and looked Cullen in the eye. "Do you remember what I told you? 'Be patient, Cullen. When you are at your lowest, be patient. You are meant to be apart of something great, I know it.' And you were. You are."

"You always did have those feelings."

That made Eveleen smirk. "Forgive yourself, Cullen. You have done nothing to me that would require _my_ forgiveness. Besides, your feelings for mages must have changed some. Otherwise your relationship with the Inquisitor would be quite awkward.”

"I…" A blush bloomed bright and red on his cheeks. He rubbed the back of his head. "I didn't know it was that obvious."

"Only to the blind," Eveleen said. "But even they could have heard it in your voices. Cullen, I'm happy for you."

He absently ran a hand over the soft fur of Rania's cloak. "She hated me when we first met, you know?"

“No! Hate you? I don’t believe a word of it,” she said in mock surprise.

“Ha. Ha. Joke all you want, Amell. I know I’m a hard man to like.”

She listened to him tell her how he became apart of the Inquisition, of Kirkwall and the mad Knight-Commander Meredith. He told her of how he rallied the remaining templars and helped restore the city. The Seeker had seen his potential and later, he was granted the title Commander. He was in charge of the military and was the tactical advisor of the Inquisitor. And Eveleen could not be more proud of him.

Once he was finished, Cullen smiled. "Thank you."

Something lifted from his shoulders, shedding off years of regret and guilt. "You're welcome." Once she was by the door, about to leave, Eveleen said, "I do have one favor to ask."

"Anything. You're a friend and a guest."

"I don't remember where my room is. Could you show me?

Cullen chuckled and pushed the door open for her. "This feels vaguely familiar." He held up the cloak. "I need to find someone to mend this anyway.”


	5. Chapter Five

Night had gathered by the time they reached her room. They had talked about her travels, about the places she and Zevran had explored throughout the years. When he asked if she had ever left Ferelden, she spoke of Antiva and its capital. It was a city of romance and murder and smelled of seawater, wine, and spice mixed with mud and blood. It rained for days but the flowers were always in bloom. In little pots near archways and above in opened windows, they would blossom brilliantly in pinks and purples and yellows. Eveleen told him how much she missed the sounds of the waves lapping against the ships all along the harbor. There were few royal warships but more merchant crafts than she could count and several smaller vessels painted with the Antivan golden drake. It was always noisy by the ports, as sailors and traders from half of the world crowded its docks and alleys, shouting orders or mingling with the citizens. Down by the fishmarket, mussels, cockles, clams, eels, crabs, oysters, and fish were sold by the bundles as sellers and customers haggled the prices.

Antiva City sat on the edge of a shimmering blue bay surrounded by rich green farmland and vineyards for miles. It was a city that thrived on love and scandal with a brothel on every corner and pitch black alley ways at every turn. The streets between the homes and cafes were raw brown mud, torn up by hooves and boots alike. Overhead, laundry dried in windows and vines hung over intricate iron balconies and strings of Antivan flags criss-crossed from one side to the other. But at night, the colors faded away from the world and replacing it was a dull yellow glow. Lanterns hung along the walls, down alley ways, and under bridges. When it rained, the light appeared to come up from beneath you from the muddy puddles and from the few slick cobblestone streets. In every nook, in every cranny, there was passion and betrayal, and Eveleen loved every inch of it.

"It was good to see you again," the Commander said in front of her door.

Eveleen took the cold handle into her hand. "You too… Tell Lady Trevelyan…” Biting the inside of her mouth, she struggled to find the words to warn Cullen how ungrateful the world can become. She knew all too well just how easily people can forget who saved them all from danger. “Tell her that no matter what is to come in the future, nothing would have been possible without her. And Cullen?”

He fixed her with a confused stare. "Yes?"

"Take care of Leliana for me. Or at least until she leaves for Val Royeaux. The Inquisitor isn't the only one your soldiers should be guarding. The new Divine will play a part in the change that is to come, and people _will_ make sure that the world goes back to the way it was. I worry for her."

The little scar on his lip twitched in the moonlight. "Of course, Amell. I understand."

"Thank you," she said, relieved, then, as the Commander turned to leave, added, “One more thing… Eveleen is fine."

Bowing his head and breaking out into a smile, he said, "Well, I wish you luck on your search, Eveleen. And if you ever find yourself back at Skyhold, know that you are always welcomed."

_Tell that to your guards_ , she wanted to say, but she held her tongue and watched him leave until he disappeared back into the castle.

She turned and opened the door. On the bed, sprawled like a cat, was Zevran, and on the edge of the bed with a glass of wine in his hand must have been the man the elf had told her about this morning, both lounging lazily into the sheets. Her tongue turned dry as soon as she noticed the pitcher of dark red win on the table. She took it in her hand, filled a cup only half-way, and eyed the two over the rim as she took a tentative sip. Black skin, big black eyes, hair shaved close to the scalp, and full lips made for kissing. He had high cheekbones and a chiseled jaw, but ears that poked out from his head. Eveleen thought they were endearing.

“So what’s your name?" she asked.

His smile was lopsided, also endearing. "Derek."

"Careful, Zevran. I may let Derek here whisk me away and leave you behind."

The elf came up behind Derek and circled his arms around the mage's middle. "Such cruelty. You see what I put up with."

Derek chuckled into his wine, almost sending black droplets raining onto the rug. Zevran glanced at Eveleen and smirked, looking quite pleased with himself.

“Are you sure you’d like to do this, Derek?”

“‘Course. Why wouldn’t I?” he asked. He crossed one leg over the other, leaning back even farther. “’S not like I haven’t dunnit before.”

Eveleen abandoned her cup on the table and crossed to the bed as she untied her belt. “Some people back out. I just like to make sure,” she said as she let the belt drop to the floor. She sat on the edge of the bed and began to untie her boot laces.

"You were talking with someone outside," said Zevran. Behind her, she could hear the sucking sound of lips against skin. "Are they shy? Why did you not invite them?"

Eveleen twisted around, looked at Zevran as he kissed the dip of Derek's neck, and laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks.

 

—

 

Eveleen looked down and saw blood on her hands. She stood in her room in Skyhold with Zevran snoring lightly in bed. Outside, the world was spinning into day and night. Shadows swelled and died away, candles burned then snuffed out then burned again, people came and went growing older by the minute, but still she stood there with Zevran snoring lightly in bed. Suddenly, everything stopped and the color was sucked away. All that was left was blackness, nothing. A drop of blood fell to a platter on the floor. 

_Drip, drip, drip._

Hours, days, years, an eternity went by until a light shown redly from behind her. Eveleen's heart pounded. Her breaths came shallow. She turned around and looked up. Before her was the Grey Warden crest looming over her like a blood bruise. Its wings spread so wide they became lost in the darkness. The heads of the two griffins rose up for miles. Monstrous and swollen, heat emitted from it like a fever. And when Eveleen went up to it and touched it, her hand came away sticky and warm. Blood.

Eveleen spun around and ran. And the griffins followed.

"Someone help!" she wanted to scream but the black smothered her words and still the griffins chased her.

Her barefoot came down on something wet. She recoiled, startled. 

_Drip, drip, drip._

The griffins were pressing up against her back now, edging her closer and closer and closer until their sullen red light pooled over the dead bodies of thousands of Grey Wardens. Piles of men, women, elves, and dwarves were left to rot, to be forgotten, but all wore the Grey Warden armor. She looked out to the horizon and saw nothing but hills of the bodies of her brothers and sisters. And then, all together, their lips moved and out from their mouths they sang the most beautiful song. Their voices grew and she could hear nothing else. Their voices grew and her ears began to ring. Their voices _grew_ and she was soon singing with them. And she kept singing until her lungs burned and her throat turned raw. Her knees gave out, the wet floor kissed her face, and with the song still on her lips, she closed her eyes forever.

Eveleen opened her eyes and found that she was surrounded by darkness. She almost believed she was still trapped in that horrible room until she felt an arm around her stomach, hugging her close. She lifted a weak, shaky hand to the face wedged into the crook of her neck. A pointed nose, a deep cupid's bow, tipped ears. Running her fingers through his long hair, she sighed. Zevran. Eveleen drew her hand back until they were caught and brought up to the elf's lips. He kissed each finger one at a time.

"You were dreaming," he said, voice thick with sleep.

"I know.” Her ears still rang with the song from her dreams.

"What about?"

She shook her head as though her neck had suddenly become stiff. "You don't want to know."

The elf pushed himself up on his elbow. Even though she could not see him, she could still feel him staring at her. The palm of his hand felt warm against her cheek. "Was it that bad?"

Tears welled in her eyes, hot and stinging, until one fat drop rolled down the side of her cheek. When she tried to take in a breath, it came quick and shaky and soon she began to tremble trying to keep it all in. The dream had gotten to her, and she did not like it. A Grey Warden was burdened with nightmares, one of the many disadvantages of being a Grey Warden, and though she may not have gotten used to them, Eveleen endured. But as she clutched to Zevran, digging her fingers into his shirt as though holding onto him would not let her drop into that dream again, the tears kept falling. Her breath hitched in her throat, trying to suck in air, to breathe. All she could think about was that black room and her dead brothers and sisters.

"There were so many dead," she sobbed. "Because of me. If I don't find a cure… I should never have suggested staying here." Remembering the singing triggered another wave of tears, but Zevran took her head into his hands and forced her to look at him. She could only make out the feint movements of his lips.

"You will, _mi amor_." His tone was fierce, but not angry. "Or I will storm the Black City itself to see that you live until your hair grows white, your skin wrinkles and sags, and you are hunched so low over your staff that your breasts dangle at your knees." Eveleen choked out a laugh, but Zevran continued. "I will not let you die because you were given no choice but to drink from that cup. I will fight any man, woman, or demon who keeps you away from that cure, and once you do find it, you will retire and we will travel all of Thedas until our last day and not a moment before. There will be no Deep Roads, no darkspawn, no last battle."

“No Deep Roads," she sniffed. "I like the sound of that."

He brought her head up to his lips and kissed her tears away. He kissed her eyes, the tip of her nose, her forehead, her cheeks, and finally pressed his mouth to hers ever so gently. Resting his forehead against hers, Eveleen could feel the crease in his brow that held all of his stubbornness and determination and worry. She brought her arms around his neck and did not let go.

"Derek's not here?" she whispered.

"Our friend left, saying the Inquisitor would have his pleasantly firm bottom if he did not finish mixing some potions for her."

"Good," she said and followed with another kiss.

 

—

 

The morning pinks and oranges stole away the grey of night as she and Zevran stood at the gates of Skyhold. Only a few people roamed about, dragging their feet to work. Men with arms thick as trees lugged beams of wood over their shoulders. Two women carried each a basket of wheat and trailing behind them was a small round boy with a bag of flour in his plump little arms. The Seeker passed by with a chipped sword in her hands, and over by the tents, a new group of mages and surgeons relieved the skeleton crew from their duties. Eveleen's backpack was heavy with a signed copy of Hard in Hightown and food — two bags of spiced beef jerky, a fresh loaf of bread with sesame seeds baked into the crust, a generous slice of sharp Orlesian cheese wrapped in a thin cloth, and four slices of moist spiced pumpkin bread, all thanks to the Inquisitor. "I'm not letting you leave just so you can starve," she had said, and Eveleen had been in no hurry to argue. Their skins had been filled to the brim with water, and Rania had given them two more, swollen to the point of bursting.

Now she and Leliana stood in front of them wide-awake with Cullen dosing off beside the Inquisitor. They were all in light clothing except for Lady Trevelyan, who wore a brown cloak trimmed with fur around her shoulders. The Commander wore a simple tunic, brown breeches, and leather boots, and the spymaster wore a basic dress with bell sleeves and a plain purple bodice. Dawn was just approaching over the horizon, too early to dress in full armor. Rania stuck her hand out and Eveleen took it.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay a few more days? You're more than welcomed," she said. A gust of wind drew her hand back inside her cloak.

"Thank you, but Zevran and I have work to finish. If the cure can find itself, I'd like to know. It would certainly save me the trouble."

"I will keep my spies informed," Leliana offered. "If something should come up, you will be the first to hear."

"Ahhh, what is the Chantry without its spies I wonder?" said Zevran.

"Deaf and blind, I'd wager," Rania mumbled, huddled deep in her cloak. The fur trim hid half of her face. Cullen gave her a pointed look, but she only looked away as though she said nothing.

Eveleen pinched the assassin's side. "Thank you, Leliana. I can't say I'm against the idea of having divine intervention on my side." She then took Cullen's shoulders into her hands and gave half-smile. "I'm glad you're here to see me off. Even though you're sleeping through half of it."

That seemed to surprise him, but it was soon replaced by a wide yawn. "Sorry. I actually haven't gone to bed yet…. You'll be warm enough, right?"

The first light of the rising sun shimmered in the griffin pendent as Eveleen showed him her cloak. "I'll be fine."

"Just… be safe," he said, brows furrowed.

"Do not worry, my curly-headed friend," Zevran laughed, wrapping an arm around the Commander’s broad shoulders with difficulty. "She has brought down many a men."

Cullen twisted his mouth as he tried to shrug Zevran off of him. "I do not doubt that."

The spymaster stepped up, and Eveleen did not pass up the opportunity to embrace her friend for the last time. This time, Leliana held her tight.

"If you are ever in Val Royaeux…" Leliana began.

"A mage conversing with the Divine," Eveleen tease. "How scandalous."

"You will always be welcomed there."

With one last squeeze, Eveleen and Leliana parted, but not before the mage could take her fingers and whisper, "Promise me you'll be careful."

That sad smile returned, but there was no hood to hide under. "I can promise nothing," she said, "but I will try."

Looking from Rania, Cullen, and finally to Leliana, Eveleen had half a mind to stay for a few more days, for forever, but then her dream came rushing back and she knew she needed to leave and continue her search. Not only for herself but for all Grey Wardens whose fate were forced on them. She watched Zevran shake hands with Rania and Cullen and say goodbye to Leliana with a quick hug. Something tightened in her chest when she and the elf stepped back and waved goodbye. Maybe one day they would return to the old fortress on top of the clouds. But, as she and Zevran turned their backs and started to cross the long bridge over the chasm of rock and snow, Skyhold would have to wait until her journey was complete.

Once they reached the end of the bridge, she could feel the magic slowly fading. It slipped from her shoulders like a warm wool blanket, and suddenly she felt the cold on her cheeks seeping down into her bones. The wall of mountains bathed in the early morning light. The stone walls wept as their feet hit the snow. Eveleen took Zevran's hand in hers and said, "Let's go find that cure."


End file.
